


Should've Anticipated This

by petitecerise



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Complete AU, Drug reference, Happy Ending, I haven't posted anything on ao3 in so long that I don't even remember how to tag anything, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Underage Drinking, heavy implications of hookups, i don't really know where this is going, i guess?, not at all canon except for like .87 things, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 08:53:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16930209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petitecerise/pseuds/petitecerise
Summary: Derek is furious upon realizing that the pack have decided to host a party in his apartment while he’s away. Although he’s sure they’d clean up after themselves, and he is home early, there’s something wildly territorial in him that wants to kick everyone out.He’s been gone six weeks, and he left Scott with a key in case they wanted to use the apartment for anything. He opened his home to them; they’re teenagers, home from college for the holidays, still high on their first taste of eighteen year old freedom. In some way, Derek gets it. He should have anticipated this, anyway.





	Should've Anticipated This

**Author's Note:**

> Sup y'all, it's literally been FOREVER since I've written anything but I'm back with 1400 words of Sterek that are literally pointless. Enjoyyyy

Derek is _furious_ upon realizing that the pack have decided to host a party in his apartment while he’s away. Although he’s sure they’d clean up after themselves, and he is home early, there’s something wildly territorial in him that wants to kick everyone out.

He’s been gone six weeks, and he left Scott with a key in case they wanted to use the apartment for anything. He opened his home to them; they’re teenagers, home from college for the holidays, still high on their first taste of eighteen year old freedom. In some way, Derek gets it. He should have anticipated this, anyway.

He hasn’t seen the pack since they all went away to different universities in August. He’s okay with that, kind of, since he’s used to being alone, but the silence in the apartment got to be too much quickly, hence the trip (three months, cut down to six weeks because he got tired of sleeping in beds other than his own).

They’ve turned the loft into a rave. Strobe lights flash, bare-skinned women in glittery bras crowd the living room floor in front of a makeshift DJ booth blasting bad EDM. Everyone is covered in body paint and glitter, high on the exhilaration of the party, the freedom from supervision, and probably something else, if he’s being honest. Silent, Derek steps into his apartment, briefly contemplating pulling the cord to the DJ’s setup out of the wall and sending everyone home… but something stops him. Everyone is having an amazing time. Worst case scenario, he’ll send them home in an hour. For now, Derek goes in search of food in the kitchen.

There’s not much, unsurprisingly, but he scrounges up some cheddar cheese and a handful of crackers, downs them, and drinks a glass of water in three fairly large gulps. He ventures back out to the party and, eventually, finds himself pouring a drink and wandering onto the dance floor, mindless. It’s his own home, after all. He’s never been much of a dancer, but the energy in the room is intoxicating. For the first time in a long time, he feels fairly at ease in a crowd, knowing these are all humans, that even with their scents masked with alcohol, drugs, other people’s sweat, and the blacklight paint on their bodies, they’re still identifiable as human.

Derek still hasn’t spotted anyone from the pack, which surprises him. He’s kind of okay with it for the moment, though; he’s not in the mood to answer questions. He’s been lost in thought the last few weeks, trying to reconcile the feelings he’d developed over the summer, that had torn him up a little bit when they all finally left. He’d spent most of the fall thinking about strong, capable hands, lanky limbs, and big brown eyes framed with long eyelashes. When he became the kind of man to wax poetic about a silly crush, he didn’t know, but when he starts dancing with a tall, lean, brunette guy, he falls right back into it, letting his hands skim the guy’s sides and imagining what could never possibly be. It would be painful if it wasn’t bittersweet, if he didn’t still feel all those feelings regardless.

It isn’t long before he finds himself tugging the guy in close; they’ve migrated to the edges of the throng of dancing people, and Derek’s body doesn’t even feel like it’s attached to him anymore, every movement of his feet, his hips, happening on autopilot. Something about the man in front of him is pulling him in, and so he lets the guy walk him backward toward the wall, lets him step in close. He can almost, _almost_ , pretend that it’s Stiles if he closes his eyes, but the guy is a little too tall, taller than Derek, and a little too broad through the shoulders; his hands take hold of Derek’s hips with a firm confidence that he can’t believe would belong to the eighteen-year-old boy who left for Quantico in August.

Derek gives in to his touch and pulls him in, finding soft lips as he slides a hand to the back of his neck, exhaling softly through his nose. He’s not usually the hookup type, but this feels good. It feels… safe, and Derek wonders if there was something else in that drink to make him feel this way.

\--

Stiles hasn’t let himself do much other than study since leaving for Quantico in August. He’s home for the holidays, finally, and gets to see his friends… and they choose to throw a rave at Derek’s while he’s out of town. Not that Stiles is complaining, of course, it’s just that it feels a little wrong with Derek gone and unaware and all of these Beacon Hills teenagers crowding into the loft. It’s not… theirs. It feels like they’re invading Derek’s space, but Stiles isn’t about to pass up an opportunity to hang out with his friends and get absolutely blasted (which, to be fair, he hasn’t been for over an hour; he seems to have sobered up pretty quickly for someone who hasn’t had alcohol in several months).

He’s always liked dancing, even in high school when he could barely control his limbs, so once the party really got going, there was no getting Stiles off the dance floor. He found himself pressed close against another guy, one who reminded him so much of Derek it was almost scary-- but he was a little too short, a little too narrow, and let’s be honest, Derek without a leather jacket? In December? Not gonna happen. He’s even more convinced that it can’t possibly be Derek by the fact that he’s not supposed to be back for something like another six weeks, and it’s doubled down on when the guy touches him delicately, carefully, like he’s asking for permission.

The kiss, that first touch of their lips, is something powerful. It’s like a drug, sucking him in and wrapping him up in warmth. His body feels like it’s been charged with something, and he’s simultaneously too hot and shivering. He curls his fingers against the short hair on the back of the stranger’s head, pressing his body back against the wall to box him in. He feels the guy’s soft breath on his cheek before they separate, and Stiles finds his hands wandering just under the hem of his t shirt, resting his smooth palms on his flat, warm stomach. He finally opens his eyes, trying to get a good look at the stranger’s sharp features.

 

Shit.

\--

Derek’s eyes go wide when he realizes who he’s actually kissing. There’s no way this is Stiles, right? He can’t possibly be making eye contact right now with Stiles Stilinski, that can’t be Stiles’ hands against his skin. Part of him wants to fucking _run_ , to get out of there as fast as he got in, to hide from whatever consequences this is definitely going to bring… but another part of him wants to kiss Stiles again. Another part of him wants to pull Stiles close, tell him that he’s been thinking about him nonstop since he left, that he’s sorry he hasn’t said anything. Yet another part of him knows that saying any of that is just going to make Stiles panic. So he takes a deep breath, steadies himself on his feet.

“You, uh, wanna take this upstairs, or…?” he hesitates, trying to assess where Stiles’ head is at on this one. “Not that we have to, but…”

Stiles is already nodding eagerly, slipping his fingers out from under Derek’s t shirt. “Lucky for you, I know the way.”

Something about Stiles’ unwavering confidence, even as his heart beats out of his chest, is incredibly attractive. Derek doesn’t even think about following him, just does it automatically. Thankfully, they’re fairly well concealed by the volume and darkness of the room, but they still stumble over a half-drunk pair of women on the stairs before they’re able to close Derek’s bedroom door behind them-- and suddenly, they’re alone, barred from the overstimulation of the rave. The deafening silence settles heavily on Derek’s shoulders, and his hand slips off the doorknob slowly. Equally slowly, he turns around to face Stiles, clearing his throat a little.

“So, this is new,” Stiles says, taking a careful step toward Derek. He already looks skittish. Big shock. “I, uh… didn’t recognize you right away.”

“Yeah, that goes both ways,” Derek says, rubbing a hand over his face. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

“We can definitely talk about this tomorrow,” Stiles has Derek blocked in again, his back against the door. “But I do have one question for right now. It’s a yes or no situation.”

“Yes,” Derek says, reaching up to curl a hand into his shirt. “Absolutely, yes.”


End file.
